


Inscription

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Gated Community, Pets Allowed [29]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, M/M, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He supposed that there were many reasons he had chosen the path leading to his current life. That was unquestionably one of them. There were others, but the fact that he felt more secure when he wasn't fully standing on his own two feet was very likely first on that list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inscription

There were certain truths in Draco Malfoy's life, incontrovertible and real in ways many people wouldn't expect.

One such truth was the fact that he had very rarely been his own man. Until he was almost sixteen, he was always the son of Lucius Malfoy. His father's stint in Azkaban had forced him to grow up and make the attempt at being in control, the kind of man who could deal with his own problems head-on instead of expecting his father to fix it for him. That had quite clearly been a cock-up of epic proportion. All that had earned him was an ulcer and a reputation for being too weak even to kill some old man.

The less said of the time after that, the better, at least in Draco's opinion. He could admit that he was uncomfortable in his own skin when left to stand on his own. It felt wrong, felt too much like hot breath against the nape of his neck, fetid and full of the expectation that he would fail.

He supposed that there were many reasons he had chosen the path leading to his current life. That was unquestionably one of them. There were others, but the fact that he felt more secure when he wasn't fully standing on his own two feet was very likely first on that list. No one understood that more than Severus Snape, a man Draco believed was patently incapable of doing anything other than standing completely on his own.

It was a wholly different kind of hot breath on his neck that Severus offered him, and he had no qualms about letting the man own him. Mark him. Make him belong, if not to himself, then to someone who could override the pale, scarred skin that had been left behind in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's death. Most people considered anything that had happened to him while he'd been on that side of the fence and seemed not only not to care, but to wish belligerently that he'd had a shitty horrible time of it. Except Severus, and his family. Well. Except his mother.

Draco pulled at the leather straps binding his forearms together. They held firm, reasonably comfortable. It was a strangely reassuring position in which to find himself, and he settled in to watch Severus closely.

"You need to stay calm if you're going to enjoy this," Severus murmured, sliding fingers along Draco's lightly tied together arms.

"Yes, sir." It would probably strike most anyone strange, how comfortable both of them were with the way he answered any sort of instruction from Severus. Years of habit certainly had quite a bit to do with it, but it seemed... appropriate. Comfortable. Right.

Easy.

They fought and argued quite a bit whenever Draco felt like it, but when it mattered, he tried to listen now. And bedroom games. And sometimes, bedroom games overlapped with things that mattered, that made him pull at the soft leather cuffs that held his hands over his head. "Better. You're going to look lovely in green." Green and silver, the cramped scrawl of Severus Snape's handwriting etched into his skin, ownership and adoration. Just thinking about it made him warm, grateful. No small amount sexually stimulated, either. He looked thoughtful as he let his hand linger down the line of Draco's arm, curving over his stretched shoulders. "Relax."

It wasn't as simple as that except that it was. _They_ were, because if anything at all, he owed Severus for so many things. His life, in fact, because Severus made it possible for him to function in the world. He was so many things to him, everything, Draco sometimes thought, and that would shock ninety-nine out of a hundred wizards to realize. Draco didn't care, and relax was a deceptively uncomplicated request. Well. If Severus ever made anything _easy_ , then it wouldn't be them. The easy things weren't worth the having, Draco sometimes thought, and this, submitting, relaxing, allowing someone else's desire to have full reign over his own, it was part of all the things they were to one another.

Taking a deep breath, he drew himself together and then let it out again, slow, steady, forcing the tension to loosen with it and giving himself over to Severus's will.

He was aware, but not really alert. Severus had discussed quills and inks, and he had listened but he hadn't imagined what it would feel like to have the soft dry nib, a little sharp, scrape in smooth motion over his pectoral. His nipple perked in reaction, and he held still, very still, trying not to move despite the fact that he quite clearly wanted to do just that -- move, shift, shimmy, and if he had been hard before, it was nothing quite like now, this moment when it all coalesced into something quite real.

"Shhh." He didn't explicitly silence Draco, so he wasn't sure if that was a suggestion, an order, or an attempt at soothing. The slow scratching continued. "Where did you get this scar from?"

The memory was just as sharp as it had been the day he had gotten it. He had been standing in the girls' lavatory, sweaty and shaken and in tears, and Potter had come in with his righteous fury and his wand, and Draco had reacted immediately out of fear and shame and who the fuck knew what else. "You were there." It wasn't the proper answer, and he knew it. "Harry Potter."

He felt the careful scratching of quill against skin, and the flourish of the end of a signature. "He left you with a great many scars that day. Some that can't be reached with a quill."

Yes, there had been, but Severus had been there and he had thought quickly, had healed him before the worst set in and raised, twisted along the furrows Potter had left on him. Draco's pale skin had always scarred, pale on pale so that it could barely be seen, but those scars had been made of red angry ridges. It had taken months for them to become white, raised lines. "Yes."

He felt the quill nib against the next mark on his body, slow moving, and then the one after that. "You still wish you could do things to him for that."

"Yes." Yes and yes and yes again, and yet he was also pathetically grateful to Potter as well. He had defeated the Dark Lord, made it possible for the world to change and Draco with it. On the other hand, there were the scars, the fact that Severus had been left for dead. Some scars could never be erased.

"We'll deal with that another day." There was a jagged line on his hip, and he felt the light pressure of the nib there as well. "And this...?"

When he blinked, it surprised him to find that his lashes and cheeks were damp. The definitive placement of that handwriting, the name _Severus_ flowing over his scars, it made him feel so much. Memories, yes, but he was making claims over them, and it was cathartic and erotic and fucking Merlin, Draco knew that he was meant for this. Meant to be here this way, meant to belong to him, and he somehow managed to stutter the answer without moaning. "Aunt Bellatrix."

"Her end was too good." He felt the slow slid of a thumb beneath the ink line, at the edge of the scar, and then the brush of lips against the mark as well. No amount of pulling at his wrists would get him more or less sensation than he was getting just then, faint and intense as it was.

He was hard and shivering, watching Severus intently. There was no way to deny the sharp upwelling of emotion as he did, and he curled his fingers into his palms and let out a ragged breath. "Yes." Yes to everything, to anything, to whatever he wanted.

Severus's mouth tugged into a smile, still bent over Draco, tracing a line with his finger along the inside of Draco's thigh just then, over a small dent of a scar. "Ah, this one I remember. Fell off your broom and onto a bench before there was any school to send you off to..."

Dobby had been in hysterics over it, too, slamming his head into the wrought iron of the thing as though drenching it in the blood of a house elf might turn back time. The touch tickled just a bit, and Draco gave a breathy laugh. "Worth it."

The sky had been amazing, clear deep blue, and he had wanted to touch it so badly that he had taken his toy broom much higher than it ever should have gone. It had been worth it.

"I know." He knew, and that signing seemed to have a little more relish in it, because yes, that was what Draco liked, enjoyed best and didn't have any horrible memories attached to. Flying was always good, even when crashing came at the end of it. Severus was like flying to him, and he laughed again, just because it felt good. The scroll of ink against his skin, the caress of potion-stained fingers, all of it. Every moment of it, and a shiver of sensation rippled through him, turning his laugh to moan. "I think I'll mark this simply because." He wrapped fingers around Draco's shaft with little warning, but an easy slide of touch before carefully pressing the quill nib against soft skin.

Oh. Oh, fuck, that made his breath catch, his hips hitch in reaction. "Fuck!"

"Not yet." Severus's fingers cradled, served as counter-pressure to the firm scratching of nib against soft skin, the cool flow of ink.

"Teasing bastard." He said it, but he didn't mean it. Not really, and it felt so good. Amazing, and no one else had ever, could ever, make him feel this way, wanted and adored, closely-held and owned, all at once. It was true that Severus was a bastard -- petty, arrogant, bad with people -- but he was Draco's bastard, and that just ramped the desire for him even higher.

"Oh yes." He drew a line under his name, thumb massaging up the underside of Draco's cock. "Tell me what you'd like signed next."

As if he could think of anything except that touch, the need to whimper and rock into Severus's touch. "I... I can't, I don't..." Where else?

"You don't have to. You're mine." He slid his hand over Draco's thigh smoothly. "And you'll continue being mine."

Just like that. Exactly like that, and it was true, and Draco couldn't help relaxing completely beneath the touch of his hand, peering up at him through damp, spiky lashes. "Yes." Yes, everything, yes to it all, to everything. Anything. Always.

He wrapped his fingers around Draco's cock, giving a firm stroke, smearing the smooth sparkling silver and green ink. "I might make one or two of these permanent."

The caress made him bite his lip, moan, push into the touch. "Yes." It was the only answer he had, the only one he wanted to give, because nothing, ever, could be as perfect, as right, as that handwritten scrawl laying claim to him.

Severus's fingers squeezed him, and he edged in closer, one clothed thigh nudging his knee under Draco's thigh. He only half heard the spell that came while Severus's other hand slid over his chest, but he felt the sharp, searing crackle of it, the way the ink worked its way under his skin, and he gave a sound that he hadn't even known he could make, entire body arching hard up that touch, his cock jerking in response.

"Beautiful and always mine, Draco. For the whole world to see." Right there, right beneath his fingers, marked in ink and magic to the bone, and each one was a sensation in its own right, growing, fading, lingering, pulsing its way into him, his chest and his hip and his thigh, and it was so much. Too much, and he bucked up desperately against the fingers wrapped around his cock and came so hard that the world whited out with pleasure.

He opened his eyes to Severus leaning over him to unfasten the wrist cuffs, mouth lingering against Draco's cheek. The swirling of emotion, the way each scar had made him feel when he looked at it, seemed written over in green and silver and Severus, and he curled his hand around one bony wrist when it was free. "You know I...."

"Quite." Severus's mouth curled, sly slow smiles again as he shifted, sliding a hand behind Draco's back. It gave him leverage, let him pull his elbow underneath him just so and lean up to catch that sarcastic, thin-lipped mouth, vicious and biting sometimes, and oh so very sweet.

"Mmhm, I like this look on you." Green and silver and shimmering, scars not completely covered but marked over, more effective than striking a line through them or just making them go away ever would have been.

When he kissed Severus the next time, it said all the things that neither of them said well. Said _thank you_ , and _I love you_ , and _I belong to you_ , and for them, that was enough.


End file.
